


The (sur)Real Ghostbusters

by Devilc



Category: Friday Night Lights (2006), Supernatural
Genre: Crossover, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-10
Updated: 2010-03-10
Packaged: 2017-10-07 21:06:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/69251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Devilc/pseuds/Devilc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wherein Tim and Landry stumble into the Supernatural Convention ....</p>
            </blockquote>





	The (sur)Real Ghostbusters

**Author's Note:**

> (1) Thanks to Tartysuz for the beta. (2) In this story, I've placed the con hotel in Colorado (3) I've made a few minor changes to the events of SPN 5x09 for the purposes of making this story work (4) For one particular thing in this story, I use ' where I'd usually use ", but it's for the purposes of making things easier to read, as you shall see.

Two minutes after he had _finally_ gotten rid of her and stripped down to his skivvies so he could climb into bed, the banging on the door to his trailer started again. "Goddamn it, Becky," Tim yelled, "For the last time, I can't help with your home work, or with picking your dresses or with any of that crap. Leave me alone! I'm tired!"

"And cranky, too!" Landry's voice shouted back.

"Oh, thank God," Tim muttered under his breath as he whipped the door open and hastily ushered Landry in, shutting and locking the door the moment he got in. "To what, Landry, do I owe the pleasure?"

"I need a favor, Tim."

Any favor Landry asked was likely to be pretty easy. "Shoot."

In a huge rush, Landry said, "There's this event I want to go to in Colorado, and I can't unless I can get an adult to come with me. Can you do it?"

Okay, maybe not quite so easy. "What is it? And why are you asking _me_?"

Landry sighed and dragged a hand through his hair. "Okay, I'm a fan of the Supernatural books and comics. There's going to be a Supernatural Convention in Colorado this coming Saturday. The creator, Carver Edlund, is going to be there --"

"_And?_"

"He's kind of a recluse. I've emailed him a few times because I want to interview him for my Independent Study and he said he'll talk to me at the con -- he almost never gives interviews, so it's kind of a big thing to get one. But my parents --" Landry's face fell, "aren't real real big into fantasy or science fiction, so there's no way I can ask them to take me."

That still didn't explain anything about where he fit into the picture. Tim stared at him expectantly.

"Matt doesn't have a fake ID." Landry gestured as he spoke and nearly knocked a whole stack of dirty dishes off the counter. "Tyra had to cancel, she's too busy with UT -- but she wants me to get Carver to sign a few books for her -- but _you_ on the other hand ..." Landry trailed off.

Tim snickered. "So what you're saying, Lando, is that you want me for my fake ID."

"Got it in one." Landry grinned ear to ear and crossed his arms. The Jenga tower of dishes rocked alarmingly as he leaned against the counter.

Tim arched an eyebrow. "What's in it for me?" (Fuck, he really needed to get the plumbing on this place working, or use the hose to get the dishes clean or something. Soon.)

"All expenses paid," Landry replied eagerly. "You just have to show up and breathe."

"So, you want me for my ID _and_ my body." He couldn't resist adding a little innuendo -- getting Landry flustered was always funny. And, Tyra aside, Tim still wasn't entirely sure Landry was straight.

Becky chose that moment to knock on the door. "Tim Riggins. Tim Riggins, I know you're in there," she crooned.

"Oh, _fuck me_," Tim snarled under his breath. "Goddamn it, Becky! I'm busy. It's Lions business. _Go. Away!_"

A calculating gleam entered Landry's eyes. In low voice he said, "What's in it for you, Tim? I'd say a three day weekend away from Becky."

Shit. This weekend was a three day weekend, wasn't it? "Sold!" Tim said, leaping to his feet. He grabbed his duffle and began shoving clean clothes into it. "When do we leave?"

Landry studied him for a moment as he worried at a hangnail. "Um ... it's only Thursday night. I'm thinking as early as possible on Saturday morning. We'll miss the first panels, but --"

"How about Friday, right after the game?" Tim interrupted eagerly.

"It's an away game."

_Shit._ "Crap."

"Besides, I want to take Vlad."

"Vlad?"

"My car," Landry said, grinning, "Vlad the Impala."

Groan.

"I'll meet you at your house," Tim offered. "I'll drive so you can sleep. We'll tell your folks we're going fishing and hiking up in the hill country and want to get there by dawn, when they're really biting." At Landry's quizzical look, Tim explained, "We have to tell them _some_ reason why you're going out of town with me for three days, right? Unless they're good with me taking you to this convention."

Landry beamed. "That's good. I like it. I can also tell my dad we'll be talking Lion stuff." Then, "I'm going to see if I can't help Becky with her homework, seeing as I'm an Honor Student."

"You do that." Tim said, smiling on the inside at the idea of Becky getting an entirely different kind of Biology lesson than the one she wanted.

"So ... see you around midnight on Friday?" Landry lifted the handle on the door.

"I'll be waiting." _With bells on_.

~oo(0)oo~

When Tim pulled his truck up in front of Landry's house, even by the porch lights he could tell that Landry had actually _waxed_ his hoopty. Hell, it even looked like he'd hit the tires and the cracked dash with Armor All. Vlad was still missing a hubcap, though. Sprucing up his car was not the brightest move Landry had ever made if they were planning to sell this whole "going fishing" story. Tim grabbed his duffle bag, the tackle box, a sleeping bag, and his fishing pole and stacked them next to the trunk. Then he popped the hood of his truck, and using the screwdriver on his Leatherman, undid the distributor cap. There. Now they absolutely had a reason to take Landry's hoopty on the trip.

~oo(0)oo~

Tim thought he'd never be sorry that the Lions won a game -- and a road game against the Arnett Mead Tigers at that -- or to hear that Landry was the hero of the game, because not only did he do a perfect onside kick, but he also kicked the winning field goal as time ran out; however, as the sky at the edge of the world began to lighten, Tim was starting to regret it.

Victorious Landry was _wide awake_ Landry, and, apparently, Landry didn't sleep all that much to begin with. "I've got chronic insomnia," he explained in a cheery tone sometime around 2am. "Four hours sleep is a lot for me."

Earlier, when Landry climbed into the passenger seat, he hooked his iPod up to a homemade adapter (an epic kludge straight out of "There, I Fixed It") that allowed it to work with Vlad's ancient radio, and said, "In this car it's 'the golden rule.' I'm supplying the gold, so I make the rules. And that means I pick what we listen to."

"Whatever, Lando," Tim said as he backed the car down the drive. "Just so long as it's not all Crucifictorious all the time, it's fine by me."

Landry gave him the stink eye. "Just for that, I'm not going to give you that bag of cheez doodles I bought for you."

"You wound me. So, what are we listening to?"

"The Supernatural books -- as read by fans. See, Supernatural is a cult fandom, so they never got enough support for professional audio books, so fans have been reading them and posting them online as podcasts." Landry pushed play. "I figure this way, you'll get to know a little about Supernatural -- I'll just be playing a selection of the early books -- and it will all be fresh in my mind when I interview Carver. Also, I read one of the books -- the Hook Man one."

Swell.

As the miles and hours clicked by, Tim kept waiting for Landry to nod off so he could see if there was anything good on the iPod.

That didn't happen.

"Don't even think about it," Landry said when they got to the line where Dean told Sam about how the driver picks the music and the shotgun shuts his cakehole.

On top of that, after a few books, Sam and his issues grated on Tim. Tim wished he could step into the story tell him to stop hogging the violin at least once every 20 minutes. Or send Sam to spend a few days with Walt Riggins so that he could know what a bad father was really like. Because shooting guns, kicking ass, hustling pool, and skipping a lot of school didn't exactly sound like bad things as far as Tim was concerned. John Winchester at least _cared_. Although, Tim had to agree that watching your fiancee burn to death after a demon pinned her to the ceiling was pretty crappy, so yeah, Sam got a bye where Jess was concerned.

Just before sunrise, Tim pulled over and let the still wide-awake Landry take over so that he didn't fall alseep at the wheel and drive them into a ditch. As the car floated down the highway, Tim leaned his head against the passenger-side window and had the first of a series of freaky nightmares as Landry's book began.

On, and one last thing, a couple of the books were read by a girl named Becky, and based on the way that she read certain passages -- like the part in the book about the bugs where the realtor thought Sam and Dean were a couple -- Tim could tell that she had issues. And not only that, her issues had issues.

~oo(0)oo~

"We're here," Landry said, rousing him from a doze as they pulled in and parked at the end of a long line of classic 1960s Impalas. Scrubbing blearily at his eyes, Tim stumbled into the lobby, flopped down into chair, and konked out again, only to be woken by a series of giggles. Blinking owlishly, he located three girls clustered at the next couch and table over studying him. They giggled even harder when they saw him looking at them. Finally, one of them said, "It's so cool that you're already cosplaying."

_What?_ He just smiled back and closed his eyes again.

"What's cosplaying?" he asked Landry as soon as the elevator doors closed behind them.

Landry just changed the subject.

Whatever. He just wanted a bed so he could crash for a few hours until registration, which began at 1.

~oo(0)oo~

"Landry, there is only one bed in this room."

"Yeah, well, when I made the reservation, it was going to be Tyra with me."

"It's a _small_ bed, Landry."

"No it's not," Landry huffed indignantly, "It's queen sized."

Tim pitched his bag on the chair next to the bed before falling backwards on to it and spreading out wide. Tossing two of the pillows at Landry, he said, "Wouldn't matter if it was a California King. 'Cause you're sleeping on the floor."

A moment later, Landry's voice pulled him back from the edge of sleep. "Well, can I at least have the comforter?"

~oo(0)oo~

Landry shook him awake at 12:45 and handed him a peanut butter sandwich on Wonder Bread -- odd, because Tim had always figured a brainiac like Landry would be a whole wheat kind of guy -- and a Mountain Dew. "Rise and shine. Registration's in 15 minutes."

Landry had on a suit and tie.

"Are you going to church or something? Or are you trying to impress this author guy, because I think that might be a bit of overkill." Tim took a huge bite of the sandwich and promptly glued his tongue to the roof of his mouth.

Landry shuffled his feet a bit before saying, "I'm cosplaying Dean as an FBI Agent."

Tim tried to tell him it was more like Dean as a Mormon Elder, but that wasn't happening. He tried to swallow, but that wasn't happening either. Fucking Wonder Bread and creamy Skippy. It was like Landry planned it or something. He reached for the Mountain Dew in the hopes that it would unstick his tongue so he could speak.

"I'm pretending to be Dean," Landry finally said. The edge in his voice that dared Tim to make fun of him.

At last Tim got his tongue back. "Whatever, Lando. Just so long as you don't expect me to wear a monkey suit."

Landry shook his head. "No, no. Just wear whatever you brought, it will be fine. But I was wondering if I could get you to put this on." He held out a small square of paper. Upon taking it, Tim discovered that it was a fake tattoo of a pentagram with some extra stuff around it.

He rolled his eyes. "You have got to be fucking kidding me." Tim actually thought it looked pretty cool -- not that he was going to tell Landry that, he had an image to maintain.

Landry hemmed and hawwed a bit. "You don't have to. It just would be ... kind of cool if you did."

"Landry, we're at nerd prom, none of this is cool."

"Nerd prom is San Diego," Landry replied without hesitation. "This is more like a nerd afterparty dance."

Tim raked both hands through his hair. He owed Landry for getting him out of town. "Okay, can I just stick it --?" He started peeling at the backing.

"On your chest," Landry tapped his, "right here."

Of course, it was only _after_ Tim got it on, and positioned just so (with some help from Landry) that Landry revealed that Sam and Dean got tattoos like this in a later book.

~oo(0)oo~

As soon as they got halfway across the lobby, Tim noticed something peculiar about the people in line. A handful of them were dressed like Landry, in suits and ties, one or two were dressed as characters that Tim guessed must come later in the series. He got the Hook Man instantly. There was a not-so-hot bleach blonde dressed in a naughty nurse outfit. ("Tyra would've made a much better Jessica," Landry whispered in his ear, and Tim had to agree.) But many of the people in line were dressed in jeans, T-shirts, stomp boots and black leather jackets, or they were dressed in jeans and and a plaid pearl-button shirt, _exactly the way he was._

Tim looked down at his feet, wishing that by some miracle, he'd discover his usual cowboy boots, but no, he'd worn hiking boots as part of the "prove we're going fishing up in the hill country" plan. _Damnit._ He began to wonder if Landry had asked him along for more than his fake ID.

"Wow, great Sam," said several people, including the two guys (one chunky, with a goatee, dressed in a black leather jacket, the other skinny and scrawny with a big nose and dressed, well, like _him_) who lined up behind them. Their names were Barnes and Demien, and they immediately got into a deep conversation with Landry that had something to do with vampires and somebody named Gordon Walker.

This was going to be a very long weekend.

~oo(0)oo~

"Yes, yes, he absolutely wants to register in the Sam contest," Landry, said, speaking over him when he tried to tell the woman behind the reg table that no, he wasn't pretending to be Sam.

He shot Landry the look he normally reserved for linebackers right before he ran over them on the next play.

"It's a $50 gift card to Sizzler," Landry hissed at him from behind clenched teeth. "And if you want to eat something besides peanut butter and cheez doodles on this trip, I suggest you Sam it up."

"You're a dead man, Landry," Tim whispered back. "A dead man."

"If Coach finds out you killed the team's top scoring player, he'll kill you." Landry smiled sweetly back.

"Will you be LARPing?" The woman asked brightly.

"What's the prize?" Landry asked.

"Another $50 gift card to Sizzler."

"I won't, but _he_ will," Tim said, pointing to Landry. "What's the prize for the pool tournament? Another Sizzler card?"

She smiled and nodded. "Put me down." Tim wasn't the hugest fan of Sizzler, but if he won one of those cards, that was four nights he didn't have to eat his own cooking.

~oo(0)oo~

After they found a place to sit down and get organized, Tim pointed to a panel description in the convention guide and asked, "Landry, what does 'homoerotic subtext' mean -- in English?"

It wasn't like he was going to become a die-hard Supernatural fan, but, looking at the booklet, some of the panel topics, such as "Baby: The Care and Feeding of a Classic Impala" and "More Than Just Junk in the Trunk: Putting Together a Proper Hunter's Toolkit" looked like they might be interesting. Others, though, he couldn't make heads or tails of, either because they were about things that happened in books he hadn't heard yet, or because like this one, they weren't written in normal English.

What followed was a 30-minute explanation of fandom, fan fiction ("it's the garage band version of writing"), homoerotic ("they act in a way that might be interpreted as being kind of gay"), subtext ("So, now that I've sung 'New Milk Cow Blues', you completely get that he's not talking about a cow, right? Well, how do you know that you know? _That's_ subtext."), and slash ("fan fiction about two or more people of the same sex going at it") which concluded with a mention of an academic paper that mentioned another couple of academic papers to show that "It's not entirely crazy to think that two guys as isolated and alienated as Sam and Dean might have, y'know," Landry's voice dropped to a whisper as his face flamed, "done it with each other."

Okay, if "Flowers In The Impala: Homoerotic Subtext in Supernatural" was the kind of stuff they got around to cooking up at college, Tim didn't feel quite so bad about dropping out.

Landry studied him for a moment, then said, "Or, in other words, it's a panel you probably don't want to go to."

Tim noticed the name of the co-moderator. "Is this the same Becky from the podcasts?"

"Yep."

Tim scratched his head as he thought. "Lando, there is so much potential for crazy going on there I have to think about if I want to run for the hills, or bring a bowl of popcorn and enjoy the show."

"Oh my god!" Landry whisper-hissed a moment later, pointing to wiry, scruffy-looking bearded guy across the lobby. "That's him! That's Carver Edlund!"

"Maybe you should go talk to him, get the interview set up."

"I can't just go over to him! That's _Carver Edlund_!" As Landry spoke, a mousy blonde in a teal sweater (she had nice legs, though) sidled up to Carver.

"She's not having any problems."

"Okay." Landry stood up. "Come with?"

Oh for Pete's sake. Tim sighed loudly as he stood. (Hey, he had to remind Landry of the sacrifices he made for him.)

They made it halfway across the lobby, Tim looking at an attractive brunette at the registration desk, when the blonde in the teal sweater, busily texting away on a cellphone, and also not looking where she was going, ran smack into him. "Oh, I'm sorry -- " she began, and then her eyes got huge. "Ohmygod!" she squeaked, "You're a great Sam!" In a slightly softer voice she continued, "I mean, you don't look like him but you're just as handsome." She then reached out and ran a hand down his chest, squeezing his left pec. "Oh, and you're just as firm, too!" Before Tim could react, she darted off, texting all the way.

Carver Edlund glared at him as they approached. As if running into that girl was all Tim's fault or something. "I see Becky noticed you," he said a little tightly when they got to him.

_Becky._

Yeah. That explained a lot.

Tim dragged a hand through his hair, pulled out his best "make nice for Coach" smile and said, "Yeah, sorry 'bout that. I wasn't paying attention."

~oo(0)oo~

"Opening ceremonies aren't until 5 and it's only 2:45 now," Landry grumbled.

"Tell me about it, "Tim replied. He'd already taken a tour around the Dealers' Room, and not only did he not have the money for any of that crap, but he got royally glared at when he started snickering at some of the merchandise. The demon eye contacts looked kind of fun, but the coffee cups were still just coffee cups, the calendars had a distinct lack of hot girls, and several of the knives were just ridiculous. Seriously, they had all sorts of extra little hooks and curly things on them that were supposed to make them look cool but, really, would just end up snagging on everything in creation if you actually tried to use a knife like that.

But the $25 official limited edition Supernatural rock salt shotgun shells? That took the cake.

"What time's your interview with Carver?"

"Tomorrow afternoon, before he judges the Sam contest."

Tim smirked. "You mean, before I get done _winning_ the Sam contest. Look around. I'm the tallest, buffest Sam in the room."

"Mmmm ... maybe not," Landry replied, pointing across the way to where Carver Edlund was talking to a really good looking Sam and Dean. Not only did 'Sam' have hair a lot like his, but he was taller, and even though his clothes were comfortable and baggy, Tim could tell that he was _built_. Becky the uber-fangirl seemed to know them, too.

"Is it just me, or do they have a deer-in-the-headlights look on their faces?" Landry asked.

Tim nodded in agreement. "Yeah, they kind of do."

"And now they're _scowling_."

Tim laughed and clapped Landry on the shoulder. "And they haven't even seen any of the overpriced crap in the Dealers' Room yet."

~oo(0)oo~

"You cannot seriously tell me that you were going to feed Tyra nothing but peanut butter, Wonder Bread, and cheez doodles all weekend, Landry." Tim said as he reached for a Coke. "Who usually paid for things when you went out?"

"We went Dutch most of the time," Landry replied. "She insisted."

Okay, so much for the "Well, pretend I'm Tyra" line. "So, tell me what were you planning to do for food while she ate at the restaurant?" Tim spread a huge dollop of peanut butter on his bread and wished for some jelly.

"If you don't like my spread, then why aren't you at the restaurant?"

"I didn't bring eating money," Tim replied, "because _somebody_ said it was all expenses paid." Tim did have some cash on him. He brought some beer money, of course, but Landry didn't need to know about that.

"That was $6.50 for the two loaves of Wonder Texas Toast and another $2.25 for the peanut butter. Soda was $10 total. Enjoy." Landry reached for the bread.

Tim pulled out the stops and went for the complete guilt trip. "Y'know, I fed you better when you were helping me with Of Mice and Men."

Landry smiled and nodded at the memory. "You do make a mean Dagwood sandwich," he admitted.

"I'm just sayin'."

"Well, we can eat at the restaurant," Landry replied, "or we can push my car home the last 150 miles. Vlad's got a 402 under the hood and gas is averaging $2.50 a gallon. Do the math."

Tim chewed (if that's what it could be called when creamy peanut butter and Wonder Bread was involved) and swallowed. "Your car really is a fucking vampire."

"He's definitely got both fangs in my wallet."

~oo(0)oo~

Landry wouldn't let him skip the opening panel, even though he didn't think that much interesting was going to happen. But since Carver was going to speak, he (meaning they) had to be there.

Carver was so nervous and chugged so much water, Tim nearly burst out laughing and was surprised that Carver didn't have to leave the stage at least once to piss or barf it all right back up. Most of the questions were pretty lame, although the one asked by this German guy about how Sam and Dean were always dropping their weapons or getting them knocked out of their hands was dead on. But his suggestion that Sam and Dean should use bungee cords was just plain lame. Becky went off on him, though, so Tim didn't have to counter with the fact that it was difficult to hang on to things, such as, oh, a football, if something hit you hard enough.

Tim also noticed that Becky spent the whole panel hanging out with the really good Sam and Dean at the back of the room. 'Dean' scowled so much, Tim half wanted to tell him that if he wasn't careful, his face would freeze like that.

"I wonder if they might be the real Sam and Dean," Landry replied when Tim pointed them (and their epic frowns) out again.

Tim snorfled at him. "Um ... Lando, Sam and Dean aren't real. This is books."

"No, I mean I think Carver might know those two guys and modeled Sam and Dean after them."

Tim thought about saying that there was no way guys like that knew a dork like Carver, but then he remembered he knew Landry. "Y'know, based on the way they're scowling, I think you might be right," he said after a moment. "I wonder if they were meant to be invited. They seemed kind of shocked, earlier."

"Yeah, maybe they're just now finding out about all this and Carver never asked permission." Landry paused. "I'd be pissed, too."

"Especially if he wasn't cutting me in a piece of the pie."

~oo(0)oo~

"Are you sure you don't want to LARP?" Landry asked, straightening his tie in the mirror and patting his side (one more time) to check that his water pistol (full of holy water) was secure.

Tim used his finger to dislodge a huge glob of peanut butter (Landry had given him a look when he saw Tim eating yet another sandwich) from the roof of his mouth. "Positive. I'll be playing a real game while your ... thing ... is going on." And afterwards, I'll be finding the nearest Sizzler and having a steak.

~oo(0)oo~

All in all, Tim had to say that playing pool against a Killer Clown was a new experience. Most of the people in the tournament were pathetically bad and were eliminated in short order. The remainders had actually held a cue at some point in their lives. Right now it was him vs. the Killer Clown, and a bearded 'Bobby' vs. the mulletted 'Ash' over at the next table.

The Sizzler card was a foregone conclusion. Walt Riggins might have been a no good son of a bitch, but at least he had taught Tim how to hustle a game of pool.

~oo(0)oo~

It turned out the nearest Sizzler was 50 miles back down the road. And though he was tempted to just help himself to Landry's car keys, Tim didn't want to put any beer money into Vlad. So he sat at a table in the bar contemplating whether or not to go back up to the room and annihilate the cheez doodles, buy another beer, or see if he could catch the eye of that made-up-to-look-ghoulish, but-still-pretty chick in the schoolmarm outfit (he was pretty sure she was the brunette from the lobby earlier that day) but she was talking to 'Dean', damn it, when Landry roared up to him all excited about the best special effects ever ("they even got the air spot cold to simulate ghostly presence") and dragged out a map which he'd found stashed in the back of a picture frame with little bloody handprints all over back of it. "I think that's a particularly nice macabre touch," he gushed.

Tim took a swallow of his MGD. "That's cool, Lando --"

"Dean. Right now you need to call me Dean, I'm LARPing here, Sam."

Tim rolled his eyes, "That's really nice, _Dean-o_, but I'm not playing Sam, remember?" Enough of this crap. "So, how about we get in the car and hit Sizzler?" He held up the card. "My treat." Yeah, that was half the card down the drain, but Tim wanted a real meal, and if Landry was going to drive, then he needed to pony up.

And then 'Sam' and 'Dean' tried to horn in on Landry's map; hell, 'Dean' even tried to bully it away from him.

Wrong move. Tim shot to his feet, got right into 'Dean's' face, and adjusted his grip on the beer bottle just in case he needed to use it to knock some sense into this asshat.

Landry being Landry, quickly motormouthed them into joining him. He'd share the glory of winning with them, but he got the Sizzler gift card. (And he got to be Dean, too.)

Now, if it had just been either one of them, Tim would have had few qualms about Landry going off alone with him. Anybody who tried to start shit with Landry would quickly discover that he certainly knew how to throw a punch and/or swing a cast iron pipe. But this was two on one, and 'Dean' had at least two inches on Landry, while 'Sam' had half a foot, and they, especially the other Dean, seemed to take this whole thing really, really seriously. So now? Tim totally had Landry's back. Wild horses couldn't tear him away.

As they headed down to the parking lot, 'Dean' grumbling about this that and the other all the way, Tim made Landry stop at his car so he could get the tire iron.

"In case we see any ghosts," Tim said, flashing a sharky smile, as he slipped it up his jacket's sleeve. _Or in case any wound-too-tight, way-too-much-into-it, assholes get some brilliant ideas about whacking us with those shovels_.

~oo(0)oo~

 

"... it is a river of crap that would send most people howling to the nuthouse! Now, you listen to me: their pain is not for your amusement. I mean do you think they enjoy being treated like - like circus freaks?! " 'Dean' exclaimed.

The moment the impassioned tirade stopped, Tim clapped. "I'm sorry, Lando," he said, shaking his head in admiration, "but this guy's a much better actor than you."

Landry glared at him for a moment before he scratched at his hair in thought and said, "Yeah, that was pretty awesome ... but I still get the gift card."

'Dean' looked like he might pop a blood vessel as he stormed off, while 'Sam' clamped down on a smile and perhaps even a few snickers. "He ... um ... he takes the story really seriously," he said a little sheepishly before starting after 'Dean'.

~oo(0)oo~

Those shovels weren't for show. As soon as they found the grave of Letitia Gore, 'Sam' and 'Dean' set to with gusto.

Landry couldn't believe that they were going to desecrate an actual grave, but as Tim pointed out, the fact that it was fairly easy for 'Dean' and 'Sam' to excavate the ground kind of showed that the grave must have been put in for the game. "Besides," he whispered into Landry's ear, "if they want to dig so you can win the Sizzler's card? Who are we to stop them?"

It stopped being fun when they broke open the top of the coffin. "I'm not CSI or anything, but I've done enough hunting that I know real bones when I see them," Tim said low so only Landry could hear. "C'mon Eight Five, let's get out of here before any more crazy happens." For once, Landry was too shocked to argue with him. Tim let the tire iron slip down from his sleeve for good measure as he grabbed Landry's upper arm to help hustle him along.

At that instant an icy breeze kicked up. And then a ghastly looking schoolmarm popped up in front of 'Sam' and shrieked, "Nein! Nein! Nein!" before _tossing_ him several feet.

Right. Time to _GO_, this wasn't $30,000 of copper wire at stake, it was a frikkin $50 gift card. Tim didn't run but two steps before _She_ stopped him. He tried to move, but couldn't, tried to draw in a breath, but _She_ was there, hand in his chest, and it felt like somebody had rammed an icicle into his heart. The tire iron slipped from his wooden fingers and clattered on a gravestone.

"Jesus Christ!" Landry shrieked, springing into action. In one smooth, continuous motion, he dive-rolled, snatched the tire iron, spun, and swung down and over so hard at her that the iron went cracking smack into the join of Tim's hip and thigh on the followthrough.

The icicle pain vanished from his chest just as white-hot fire lanced through his leg and thigh. _No fucking wonder that asshole rapist died if Landry hit him that hard in the head. Must have crushed his skull like a grape,_ Tim thought as the world turned to black and white and he fought to keep his feet. He leaned against a gravestone and sucked in a woozy breath as The _FWOOSH!_ of fire behind him confirmed that 'Sam' and 'Dean' had started the salt and burn.

"Fuck the Sizzler card," Tim moaned as Landry took one arm over his shoulder and 'Dean' got the other, and he began to make his stiff and throbby leg try and walk. "I need a drink." Or three. And an ice-pack.

~oo(0)oo~

It turned out 'Dean' wasn't such an asshole after all. He sprang for two rounds of Jack back at the bar. 'Sam' also said something to the barmaid about how his friend had tripped over one of the parking stops outside and came down hard on a log, and that and got Tim a baggie of ice to place on the colossal welt Landry had raised on hip.

Between the liquor and the five Advil the fake Letitia Gore gave him, Tim was actually starting to feeling okay, although Landry was disappointed that all his efforts had been for nothing as Demien and Barnes, the two guys they'd met in the reg-line, won the LARP.

"So, how'd you know what to do?" 'Sam' asked Landry just before the start of the "Afterhours with Carver Edlund" panel -- the one that promised to be "adults only". (Landry was hoping that he could slip in if they weren't checking ID at the door.)

Landry gave a total "duh!" snort, but then paused and said, "Part of me wants to say that of course I knew what to do because I read the books. But really, it was pure instinct." He blushed and glanced down before continuing, "I ... I, uh, if I see somebody hurting my friends, I just sort of lose it."

~oo(0)oo~

Fifteen minutes into the panel, Tim excused himself. "I need to take a leak, and I've got to walk around for a little bit before I get too stiffened up." He tried to step on to the porch so he could walk around the hotel a few times, and discovered that the door was locked. So was the next one. Okay, it was after 10pm, so the hotel probably locked all the doors except the main entrance for security reasons. Tim headed for the front door, but it was locked, too. Now that was just odd.

'Sam' and 'Dean' also tried the door a moment later.

"Oh, this is not good," 'Dean' muttered under his breath, shaking his head. "This is not good."

'Sam' looked at him and said, "You need to get back into that panel room." Though he spoke low and soft, there was no mistaking the urgency in his voice.

Two steps before Tim reached the door, out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw a little boy in old fashioned clothes flicker into being, but when he turned his head, he saw nothing except a planter.

Moments after he took his seat next to Landry, 'Sam' headed up on stage to talk to Carver, who had been winding things down, but suddenly he gasped, "What?! Holy crap!" just as 'Dean' ushered a bunch the hotel staff in and then 'Dean' and 'Sam' salted the door and had an intense private conversation.

Tim nudged Landry and whispered, "This sounds completely crazy, but you do realize that everything that happened tonight points to ghosts being real, right?"

Landry gulped hard and whispered back, "It goes against everything I know about science to say so, but I don't have another explanation for what happened in the graveyard."

Carver answered two more questions, but Tim didn't hear a word of what he said. He looked over to where 'Sam' and 'Dean' both talked to the fake Letitia. He pulled in a deep breath, pushed it out his nose, and said to Landry, "You thinking what I'm thinking?"

Landry closed his eyes, folded his hands, and rested his head against them as he leaned forward for several moments, almost like he was praying. Then he sat back up, looked Tim square in the eye and whispered, barely audible, "All it takes for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing."

Tim smiled in spite of the situation. "Well, no, that's not how I thought it. But yeah, let's go."

~oo(0)oo~

Landry clapped 'Dean' on the shoulder. "Guys, we want to help."

'Dean' spun. "No."

"Why not?" Tim asked.

"Because this isn't make believe." 'Dean' said in a low voice.

"We know," Landry replied in a clipped tone. "We're not nuts. We're freaking terrified."

_Terrified?_ Tim thought. _This wasn't nearly as scary as getting shot at ... no, actually, it was_. He heard himself say, "If all these people are seriously in trouble, we got to do something."

"_Why?_"

"_Because_," Landry replied, "that's what Sam and Dean would do."

'Dean' blinked, utterly flabbergasted for a moment, before slinging his arm over Landry's shoulder and saying, "C'mon, I've got a plan."

~oo(0)oo~

As plans went, Tim thought that having the fake Letitia Gore (whose name was Lisa and she worked at a Hooters in Toledo) play the ghost of the real Letitia Gore -- who they'd just dug up and salted and burned -- had a snowball's chance in Hell of working, but they had to do _something_ to distract the three little homicidal maniacs (apparently, they'd scalped Letitia's son back in the day) who had locked them in.

Then again, the Panthers had won State the year that everybody thought they had a snowball's chance in Hell, so Tim felt okay with those odds.

~oo(0)oo~

Those ghostly little brats were _strong_. Between him, Landry, and 'Sam', they should've been able to break a window or force the front door open. Nothing doing.

Tim glanced over at Landry as he ground out, "Clear eyes."

Landry picked it up, "Full hearts."

"Can't lose," they said and unison and pushed. The door opened an inch before slamming back.

Right.

"On three," Tim said to Landry.

"Clear eyes! Full hearts! _Can't lose!_" they roared and got the door open enough for the two of them to squeak through, the door scraping Tim's bad hip so hard the tears practically squirted out of his eyes, but there were more important things than how bad it smarted to worry about.

On the other side of the glass, 'Sam' held up a key.

With Tim hauling on the handle as hard as he could and 'Sam' pushing from the other side, they got the door opened a sliver, and Landry managed to snatch the key just in time to not have a finger pulped as the ghosts slammed the door shut again. "Go! Run!" 'Sam' mouthed at them from the other side of the glass.

~oo(0)oo~

"Wow, there is some ... interesting ... stuff in here," Landry said in a voice hushed with awe as, after five tries, they finally found the right classic Impala and got the trunk open.

"Look, just get the damn salt and shovels."

Landry also took out a sawed-off pump action Mossberg .410 and a handful of shells from a box labeled "salt". Handing them to Tim he said, "Just in case they try to stop us."

Tim couldn't argue with that as he loaded and cocked the gun.

~oo(0)oo~

"The Supernatural books make this sound so easy," Landry grumbled after about five minutes of grave digging. He studied his hand by the light of the flashlight. "Damn. I think I'm getting a blister."

Tim paused in his efforts long enough to reply, "I'll trade you my hip."

"Crucifictorious has a gig coming up next Friday," Landry huffed. His next shovelful was accompanied by the sound of tearing fabric. "And now, I've torn my suit jacket," he said mournfully, taking it off and looking at the the split seam gaping down the back.

"Lando, there's only one thing you can do at a time like this," Tim said, clenching his teeth against the pain in his hip.

"And that is?" Landry glanced up from his ruined jacket.

"Shut up, and embrace the suck."

~oo(0)oo~

"How is it that Sam and Dean are always losing or dropping their weapons, but Dean's lighter never fails?" Landry asked as he repeatedly flicked his lighter to no avail.

Tim stood ready with the shotgun. God, he hated the smell of lighter fluid. "Probably because he springs for a real Zippo and not a cheap knock off."

"Do you know how much those things cost?!" Landry squeaked, then, clearing his throat. "I'm not exactly made of credit card scam money here."

"Less talking, more flicking," Tim replied. "Although I'm going to start looking for two sticks to rub together any moment now."

At last the lighter caught and just before Landry dropped it in the grave, Tim grabbed his arm. "What the hell do you think you're doing?!"

"Duh, I'm going to torch --"

"And after you throw it in there, Captain Calculus, how do we light the two other graves on fire?"

Even in the dark, Tim could see Landry blush.

Fortunately there happened to be some dried flowers at a grave about a row over and Landry got them lit before his hand got too badly singed by the heat of the lighter.

As the flames _WHOOSHED!_ up from the open graves and then settled into a steady crackle and flicker, Tim leaned against his shovel and said, "The first time Guy Raston shot at me, I was so scared that I almost wet myself. When we got back to the house I started laughing and couldn't stop." He snorted at the memory before continuing, "Billy made me drink a couple of shots of Wild Turkey. It's the only time I can think of that he ever _forced_ me to drink."

Landry nodded in acknowledgement before he added in a quiet voice, "I lost my virginity to Tyra the night I killed that guy."

Tim sighed as the flames sputtered and hissed. "TMI, Landry. TMI."

~oo(0)oo~

They found 'Sam' and 'Dean' tucked in a quiet corner in the lobby away from the rest of the pandemonium that greeted them when they returned. Apparently, Carver had done some ghostbusting during the panel.

"Here's the key." Tim slid it across the table to 'Sam'. "What's so funny?" he asked a moment later when he noticed that they both were holding back smiles.

"Have you seen yourselves?" 'Sam' asked.

"You've got some soot," 'Dean' swiped a finger across his chin, "right here."

Tim sighed and rolled his eyes. "I'll bet _that_ never happens in to the real Sam and Dean." He swiped at his chin with the cuff of his shirt sleeve.

'Sam' snickered loudly, cutting off with a strangled sound as he tried to clamp down on it.

"Can I ask you something?" Landry didn't wait for an answer before saying, "Carver tuckerized you, didn't he?"

"What?" 'Dean' asked.

'Sam' looked over at 'Dean' and said, "'Tuckerize' is when a writer names a character in a story after one of their friends. Usually it's a minor character. And several changes are usually made."

"I should hope so," 'Dean' muttered under his breath.

"Look," Landry said, his eyes burning with conviction, "we all know that - that tonight wasn't special effects. We can say that, right?"

A look passed between 'Sam' and 'Dean' before 'Dean' said in a careful voice, "Okay, we can say that."

With his mouth quirked into a strange half-smile 'Sam' said, "Several changes were made." He held out his hand. "My name really is Sam Winchester, and he really is my brother and his name is really Dean."

Landry was over the moon. "I knew it!" he gasped. "Listen, I interviewed Carver for my senior project. Can I talk to you?"

"Nope," Dean replied. "Look, you're a good guy and all, but Sam and I, we -- this --" he gestured to the rest of the lobby, "isn't really what we expected."

"We like our privacy," Sam explained, not unsympathetically.

Tim could dig that.

"But what about you guys? And why would you rather be Sam and Dean -- the Sam and Dean _of the books_ \-- than whatever it is you do?" Dean asked with a tiny frown of puzzlement.

"Because what they do matters!" Landry blurted. In the same rush he continued, "I mean, my name is _Landry_ and I'm a high school student from a little tiny town in West Texas. I'm the only guy in my high school's calculus class. And then there's my name ... my parents were clearly hoping I'd be a football great and," Landry snorted, "I'm the damn punter-placekicker, and half the time Coach calls me 'Lance'." He paused for a moment, then said, "Although I do play in a band and that's pretty cool." He reached into the pocket of his ruined jacket and said, "Here, have a CD."

"Crucifictorius." Sam's eyebrow arched skeptically as he read the label.

"I wanted to name us Sigmatalingus, but got outvoted."

When Sam and Dean got done laughing, they turned expectant eyes on Tim.

"First off," he said, "I'm not trying to be Sam. This _is_ how I dress. I didn't know a damn thing about Supernatural until Landry asked me to come along because he needed adult supervision --"

"You're 21?!" Dean wore an incredulous expression.

Tim laughed. "No, I just have a good fake ID. Anyhow, my landlady has a crazy daughter named Becky, and Landry promised me a three day weekend away from her. Although the Becky here gives her a run for her money in the crazy department. I'm a mechanic at my brother's shop --" Dean smiled approvingly at that "-- and I also help Coach with the football team." He sighed and shook his head in mock sorrow. "I tried to teach Lando here how to be fullback or a tight end, but Coach Taylor started having second thoughts about that the day I laid him out so hard he ended up with stitches."

"_Eleven_ stitches." Landry canted his head so they could get a good look at the scar on the underside of his chin. "You didn't have to hit me quite so hard," he muttered to Tim.

"How else are you going to learn how to stiff-arm somebody trying to slobberknock you?" Tim shot back. "But honestly," he continued, "the only thing I know about Supernatural is the podcasts I listened to in the car on the way up." He smiled at Sam as he added, "And like you, I've also got a couple inches on my older brother." He shrugged. "And there you have it."

Sam and Dean nodded thoughtfully. "Those aren't bad lives, you know" Dean said.

"No, but you've got to admit they're completely ordinary," Landry replied.

"Lando, sometimes, ordinary is good." Tim stood, groaning softly as his hip protested. "Guys, it's been a long day, I'm heading for bed."

~o(0)oo~

Lisa the Hooters Waitress joined them in the elevator.

"You were really brave to do what you did," Landry said as he pushed the button.

She smiled almost shyly as she looked him over. "Well, whatever you did, it must have been good, too." She took the lacy cuff of her shirt in her hand and rubbed at his forehead. "You've got dirt," she said by way of explanation.

The elevator dinged. "So, um ... this is my floor." She paused in the doorway and looked both ways.

Landry's hand shot out, holding the doors open. "Y'know, if it will make you feel safer, I'll walk you to your room."

Her smile reached her eyes as she said, "Yeah, I'd like that."

~oo(0)oo~

After 15 minutes and still no Landry, Tim eased into bed and tried to think of what was stranger: that ghosts were real, that Sam and Dean Winchester were based on real people who hunted ghosts, or that Landry was getting the girl.

~oo(0)oo~

Tim ate the last of the bread and peanut butter for breakfast and made a mental note to himself to chuck any peanut butter he might have in his trailer when he got back. If he didn't see any Skippy for a month, it would be too soon.

He took a walk around the hotel to kill some time before the Best Sam contest (and work the stiffness out of his hip), and besides, it was kind of nice up here in the Rockies -- the air smelled all crisp and piney -- and bumped into Sam in the parking lot. "Hey," he said, waving.

Sam smiled tiredly and waved at him.

"Something wrong?"

"Didn't sleep well," Sam said.

"Tell him why," Dean said, scowling blackly as he walked up, duffel slung over his shoulder.

In a tight voice Sam said, "_Becky._"

"Carver got us put up in rooms next to his. And apparently, he and Becky are now an item." Dean's words and grin had a sharp edge.

"_Quite_ an item," Sam added, raking his hair back from his face.

"TMI?" Tim asked.

"TMI," they said in unison.

Tim repressed a shudder.

"Where's your buddy?" Dean asked.

"Last I saw, he was walking Lisa to her room." Tim grinned. "Although, the way this trip is going, I wouldn't be surprised to discover she's like, a werewolf or something, and ate him."

Sam's eyes clouded for a moment before he said, "No, she's just a girl that works at Hooters." He held out his hand. "It was good meeting you, Tim."

Tim shook it and Dean's, "It was good meeting you, too. Good luck."

~oo(0)oo~

Part of the Best Sam contest involved delivering a famous line of Sam's. As Landry (who had a giant hickey on his neck) predicted, everybody else growled a line about blood, or death, or Dean. When his turn came, Tim did with his foot exactly what Landry said to do, and peering up through his hair at the judges (which included Becky and Carver), said in his best "don't be mad at me" little-boy voice: "I lost my shoe."

Really, as if there was any doubt?

~oo(0)oo~

Tim filched the keys from Landry while he said his goodbyes to Lisa. He hopped behind Vlad's wheel, locked all the doors, and cranked the music until he could tell that Landry relented and agreed that yes, he could drive.

As he pushed play on the iPod, Tim winked at him and said, "Driver picks the Supernatural book. Shotgun shuts his cakehole."


End file.
